


Scarborough Fair

by TanzaniteWrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Courting Rituals, Courtship, F/M, Fairest of the Rare's Sing Me A Rare, Fairest of the Rare's Sing Me a Rare - UK Invasion, Fairest of the Rare's Sing Me a Rare 2020, Fluff, Herbology, Herbomancy, Neville/Hannah - Freeform, Rituals, SMAR - Freeform, Sing Me a Rare, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26547094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanzaniteWrites/pseuds/TanzaniteWrites
Summary: When Neville gives Hannah a few herbs for her kitchen, she has no idea what they mean...***Winner of Best Use of Song and Runner up in Best Fluff!***
Relationships: Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom
Comments: 23
Kudos: 34
Collections: Sing Me a Rare: UK Invasion!





	Scarborough Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing Me a Rare: The UK Invasion.
> 
> Song Prompt – Scarborough Fair - English folk song 
> 
> ***EDIT - Thank you so much to everyone who voted for this story! I loved writing it and I'm absolutely over the moon to get Best Use of Song AND be Runner Up for Best Fluff! This was my first competition but I will 100% be doing more now! ***
> 
> Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.
> 
> I highly recommend this version of the song to listen to while reading! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zcxt9_Td_70

SCARBOROUGH FAIR  
*******  
Parsley For Comfort - September 5th, 2001  
*******

Hannah Abbott lifted the large ladle to her lips, and delicately tasted the broth.

“A little more rosemary, I think…” she mused, placing the ladle back into the cauldron of soup, and setting it to stir once more with a flick of her wand.

She had just received a flourishing rosemary plant the other day, and it was now gracing her windowsill. The scent was doing wonders for her mood, while the flavour was having a similar effect on her cooking.

She plucked a sprig from the plant and added it to the pot. The regulars at the Leaky Cauldron were in for a treat tonight.

She wondered briefly if Neville would be there again. He had given her the rosemary, and she half hoped he would return to taste the results.

He had presented her with a lovely little sage plant the week before, along with a family recipe for pumpkin and sage pasties which had gone down a treat, and the week before that - August 15th, she recalled, as he had made a comment about the ancient Scarborough Fair near where they both grew up historically starting on that date - he had given her a huge pot of pretty curly-leafed parsley for garnishing.

Parsley for comfort, he’d said. She didn’t understand, but she liked the sentiment.

The three herbs were now sitting side by side along the windowsill, making the tiny kitchen in the back of the Leaky feel almost homely.

A tap on the window suddenly made her jump and she spun round, her wand clutched in her hand. The war might be over, but old habits died hard.

“Oh! You scared me!” she laughed as she saw a brown-and-white barn owl blinking at her from over the top of a large shrub.

She opened the window and the owl flew in with difficulty, dragging a large pot full of greenery.

Hannah caught the pot easily, as it seemed to be under a featherlight charm, and gave the bird a treat. The barn owl took off again immediately, leaving Hannah with the plant and no explanations.

“Is this… thyme?”

She rubbed one of the leaves between her fingers, sniffing them. “Yep, that’s thyme... is there a note?” she wondered aloud.

She placed the pot on the windowsill with the other herbs, absently removing the featherlight charm from it, and found a note tucked into the stems.

‘Dear H,

Another for your budding herb garden.

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme…

Sorry I couldn’t deliver it in person, but term has started and McGonagall doesn’t approve of staff sneaking out to the pub!

I hope Demeter made it ok, I had to put three featherlight charms on the pot so she could carry it.

Yours, N.’

“Parsely, sage, rosemary and thyme…” Hannah murmured the names to herself, wondering why they felt so familiar, but a yell from Old Tom out in the bar put it to the back of her mind as she tucked the note in her pocket, and hurried to dish up the soup.

*******  
Sage For Strength - September 13th, 2001  
*******

Hannah always took the day off on the 13th of September.

It was the anniversary of the worst day of her life; the day her mother had been found dead, and, for her, the day the war had truly started.

It was five years ago today that she had been in Herbology, taking on a Venomous Tentacula with the rest of the NEWT class, when Professor Dumbledore had arrived in his awful purple robes, and told her her mother had been found dead. It looked like Death Eaters.

She had gone home, of course, and somehow lost the rest of the year in a haze of depression.

Her mother had been buried on the headland above Robin Hood’s Bay, her favourite place in the world.

Hannah had always loved to hike the cliffs from Abbott Hall at Saltwick Bay down the Cleveland Way towards Scarborough, but today with her father beside her and the horrifying images from New York two days ago still fresh in their minds, it felt more like a pilgrimage. The war might be over in Britain, but America’s troubles seemed to be just starting.

They walked most of the five mile trek in silence, both lost in memories until suddenly they were rounding the headland, leaving the path, and picking their way through the heather to the slab of golden yorkstone set into the ground.

It was planted all around with shrubs and flowers, and Hannah closed her eyes to breathe in the fresh scent of the sea air and fragrant herbs.

“It smells just like the kitchen at the Leaky…” she murmured to herself, opening her eyes and frowning in surprise. “Like my herbs - parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…”

“Your herbs?” her father asked, startling her from her thoughts.

“Yes, Neville gave me some herbs for cooking with - he’s apprenticing to be the new Herbology Professor at Hogwarts now, you know,” she explained.

“Neville Longbottom gave you parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme?” Her father had an odd look on his face, a strangely wistful smile. “Of course, Augusta would teach him the old ways,” he muttered under his breath, nodding approvingly.

“The old ways?”

Crispin Abbott smiled at his daughter. “Did you never wonder why I planted those herbs around your mother’s grave? Or what the inscription means?”

Hannah looked down at the gravestone. “A true love of mine,” she read. “What does it mean, then?”

Instead of answering, her father began to sing, bending as he did so to pluck a few leaves of sage, pressing them to his nose.

‘Are you going to Scarborough Fair?  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.  
Remember me to one who lives there,  
For she was once a true love of mine.’

“Sage for strength,” he whispered as he placed the leaves reverently on the gravestone. “You were the strongest woman I ever met.”

“Mama used to sing that to me, as a lullaby,” Hannah said, uncertainly.

“Yes, she did,” Crispin smiled sadly. “But it’s more than just a lullaby. It is an ancient herbomancy courtship ritual, dating back to the time of the Hogwarts Founders. Legend has it that William le Gros, the first Lord of Holderness, wooed the second daughter of Helga Hufflepuff with parsley for comfort, sage for strength, rosemary for love, and thyme for courage a thousand years ago, and brought her to live with him at Scarborough Castle.”

“Neville’s ancestor married Helga Hufflepuff’s daughter?” Hannah asked in surprise.

Her father nodded. “Yes, and that daughter’s younger brother had a squib son, who founded the Abbott family, which became magical again seven generations later. So you and Neville are technically cousins… about fifty times removed.”

“Wait, by giving me those herbs is Neville trying to… ‘woo’ me?” Hannah realised suddenly.

Crispin laughed. “I would say so. Just as I did your mother. Mind you answer by the 28th September though. That’s the day Scarborough Fair ends, and if you don’t send your answer according to the ritual by then, the magic is void. He’ll think you don’t want him.”

*******  
Rosemary For Love - September 21st, 2001  
*******

All the staff had noticed how eager Neville was for the post each morning, and how dejected he looked when nothing but the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler arrived at the breakfast table.

“Expecting a letter, lad?” asked Professor Sprout, patting his arm consolingly as the post owl dropped the rolled Prophet, which landed straight in his porridge as he made no move to catch it. A splash of milk landed on the date - the 21st - which blurred and began to run down the page.

“I guess not,” he mumbled. “I thought I had an… understanding. W-with a girl. But I suppose it must have been more of a misunderstanding.”

A parcel thwacked him in the back of the head, and he narrowly avoided dunking his face into the now-inky porridge as well.

The owl who had dropped the parcel hooted disapprovingly at Neville’s bacon-less breakfast, and flew off down the table in search of a treat, but Neville was too busy tearing into his parcel to notice.

The item inside was slightly wonky, and shimmering with the telltale signs of conjuring, but it was definitely a shirt, and a cambric one at that.

There was a note pinned to it, with a little sprig of herbs - ‘Rosemary for love - H’.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

*******  
Thyme For Courage - September 30th, 2001  
*******

The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year was the last day of September, so it was just over a week before Neville was able to see his lady.

They had of course exchanged letters; now that Hannah had accepted his suit by responding according to the ritual, he was free to speak with her as much as she would let him, and fortunately she proved an eager correspondent.

They had a lot in common, both having lost parents and suffered during the war, and Demeter was getting quite tired of her nightly trips to London and back.

If Neville hadn’t been an apprentice professor for whom skipping would be beneath his dignity, he might definitely have skipped down to Hogsmeade that morning. As it was, he strode eagerly ahead of even the earliest students and apparated directly to the Leaky Cauldron the moment he crossed the wards.

Hannah was waiting for him at the brick arch through to Diagon Alley, and he wasted no time in offering her his arm, and apparating them both to the inner courtyard of Scarborough Castle.

Once there, he released her arm, and stepped back, suddenly a little awkward.

“Uh, hi,” he stuttered. He found himself unreasonably aware that this was the first time in years he had spoken to her, face to face, without some liquid courage from the Leaky’s bar to help lubricate the conversation.

“Hi, yourself,” she returned shyly, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

Everything they had discussed in their letters suddenly seemed forgotten, and Neville found himself transported back to Sixth year Herbology.

Buoyed with the success of achieving an ‘Outstanding’ in his Herbology OWL, he had plucked up the courage to work alongside Hannah in the first week of the NEWT classes. He had thought she was beautiful since second year, but she seemed to spend all her time with Ernie MacMillan. Ernie hadn’t taken NEWT Herbology though, and Neville had seized the moment.

They had got on well dealing with their Venomous Tentacula seedling together, but after class Hannah had asked if he wanted to walk back to the castle with her, and somehow neither of them could think of anything to say.

The next week he had thought up some conversation points specially, but then Professor Dumbledore had come in with the awful news, and Hannah hadn’t come back…

The next year, she had fought in the DA with him, but he was too busy trying to dodge hexes and save first years from the cruciatus to think about romance.

Then he had gone into the Aurors, and somehow Luna had kissed him, and that had been nice for a while, but they both knew it wasn’t meant to last.

And then he had walked into the Leaky one evening for a pint to celebrate leaving the Aurors and going back to Herbology, and there was Hannah. Blonde hair glowing and cheeks rosy, he thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful.

The next day, he went to see his parents in St Mungos and when he told his mother about Hannah, she went to the windowsill and plucked a leaf from one of the plants in the window box there, pressing it into his hand, humming to herself.

She had only ever given him gum wrappers before, and it took him a moment to understand the gesture.

“Parsley, Mum?” he asked her softly.

She hummed a little louder, and then he understood. Tears in his eyes, he hugged his mother tightly, and then went to buy Hannah the most beautiful parsley plant he could find.

*******

“Thyme for courage,” he suddenly blurted, back in the present. “I think you’re beautiful!”

Hannah giggled. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she grinned, making a point of eyeing him up and down flirtatiously.

Neville blushed. “I - uh - thank you for the shirt,” he stuttered. “I brought it… so we can wash it in the dry well, if you want…?”

Hannah nodded. “Well, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? And, uh, you could give me a tour, maybe? I’ve never seen the Castle from the inside, and you know from the outside you can only see the broken-down glamour, for the muggles.”

“Oh! Right! Sorry, I should show you round! I’m sorry, I can slay evil snakes with swords all day, but give me a pretty girl and I can’t tell my arse from my elbow… Uh, ‘scuse my language,” he added, flustered.

“Maybe I should have been a Slytherin, then you could slay me,” Hannah teased him.

Neville went scarlet. “We have at least four more verses of the ritual before there can be any… slaying,” he said, hastily.

“Well, best get started then. Which way to the dry well?”

*******

‘Tell her to wash it in yonder dry well  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Which never sprung water nor rain ever fell  
And then she'll be a true love of mine,’

Hannah sang the verse softly under her breath as Neville led the way to the Well Of Our Lady, an underground chapel in the grounds of his ancestral home of Scarborough Castle.

“The chapel is an ancient Roman site,” Neville explained to her, as he led the way down the narrow stone steps. “It does have a well, they used the waters as a healing spring like at Bath, but the chapel itself is called ‘the well’, hence the ‘dry well’ in the song.”

The chapel was dimly lit with torches in sconces around the walls, and a large shallow copper basin was set into the floor. The phrase ‘parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme’ was carved into the stonework around the rim.

Neville took the conjured shirt carefully from its wrappings and laid it in the basin, removing the stasis charms he had placed on it to stop the conjuration from deteriorating.

“There are spells on the basin, so once it’s been washed in the potion made from the herbs, it will become real, and won’t just be conjured any more,” Neville told her. “And then I, uh, am supposed to wear it to our wedding.”

Hannah blushed. “Wow, you Longbottoms don’t mess around, huh. We haven’t even kissed yet!”

Despite her protests, she pulled the herb potion out of her bag, and carefully poured it over the shirt.

When it was all gone, she placed the bottle down, and turned to Neville. “So what now- oh!”

She was startled to find him directly behind her, and turned right into his arms. He caught her, steadying her against himself, and she was suddenly very aware of his muscular torso and strong arms. He definitely wasn’t the pudgy kid she had met in first year any more; these arms belonged to a man, and a well-built one at that.

She looked up into his face, and he met her gaze with smouldering eyes, every inch the heroic leader of Dumbledore’s Army.

“I guess I should fix that,” he murmured, and then his lips were on hers.

He was gentle at first, soft and caressing, but quickly deepened the kiss with an authority that thrilled her. His tongue stroked hers with motions that shot straight through her body, pooling in her core and making her pant with desire.

Then he pulled away, releasing her and wiping his mouth as if embarrassed, and the illusion was gone and he was just plain old Neville again.

“Er, you have to wash it, the shirt. Like scrubbing it, muggle style,” he said awkwardly.

Hannah nodded, dropping to her knees beside the basin to do as he said, trying not to show how fast her heart was racing.

When the shift was properly soaked in the potion, they went to the greenhouses to find the ‘blossomless thorn’.

This time it was Neville who softly sang the words, and Hannah was surprised to hear his warm baritone. She had never really thought of Neville as a singer.

“Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Which never bore blossom since Adam was born  
And then she'll be a true love of mine

Ask her to do me this courtesy  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
And ask for a like favour from me  
And then she'll be a true love of mine.”

The greenhouses were Neville’s pride and joy, a fact which became abundantly clear as they approached them. His back straightened and he walked with an easy pride and confidence as they crossed the courtyard and entered the warm, bright space.

The air was thick with the heady scents of magical blossoms, and Neville’s face seemed to light up as he took a deep breath.

“The thorn which never blossomed is called Edenthorn, or Adam’s Curse, and legend has it to be the first ever magical plant,” he explained. “Instead of making flowers which are fertilised by insects and then making seeds or fruit, it uses magic to grow a new plant from every thorn which draws blood. So any time someone gets scratched by it, the thorn breaks off the plant and catches in the skin and it’s fertilised by the blood.

“When the person pulls the thorn out and throws it away, it uses the blood to give it root and it grows a new thorn vine that gives off a scent keyed to that person. The scent of an Edenthorn grown from your blood is said to be the same scent that someone who is in love with you would smell in Amortentia. That makes it the perfect plant to dry the shirt on, as it imbues the shirt with the scent of your loved-one.

“This one was grown from my blood, and we can use it to dry the shirt, but, uh, if you’re willing to grow one too, our bond will be most powerful if it’s dried across both plants.”

Hannah loved to watch Neville talk about plants, his face just came alive and he looked truly happy - even talking about a plant as macabre as this one - so she didn’t even hesitate. “Of course, how do I do it?”

Neville grinned in delight, and took her hand. For a second, Hannah thrilled in the simple, couple-y gesture, but then he took her finger and pressed it purposefully against the sharp thorns.

A strong scent of earthy, masculine tones filled the air, along with a sharp pain in her finger. She yelped, but Neville kept hold of her hand and gently plucked the single thorn from the wound, pressing it into the freshly-turned earth next to his own Edenthorn.

Then he took her finger, and brought it to his lips, his tongue gently licking the blood away before he pressed a kiss to the wound, then released her hand.

She gasped as she looked at her finger; there was no sign the thorn had ever been there.

Neville smiled crookedly at her. “I couldn’t resist. Because it’s grown from my blood, I can literally ‘kiss it better’ and heal any wound it makes,” he explained.

She couldn’t decide how to respond; the way he had licked her finger sent a throb of something primal straight through her, but her mind was a little grossed out.

Neville was already moving on though, pointing his wand at the soil and murmuring a long spell in a sing-song voice, completely engrossed in the magic he was making.

She watched in fascination as a thorny vine grew up from the earth like a timelapse, fast-forwarding the growing process until there was a small bush, that smelled of sea foam and strawberries and butterbeer.

Neville stood back in satisfaction, and Hannah took the shirt, still sopping wet thanks to another stasis charm, and draped it carefully across the thorns, removing the charm so it could dry.

They stood, admiring their bizarre handiwork, breathing in the heady perfumes that they both knew were the scent of their amortentia. Hannah found herself sidling closer to Neville, and he put an arm around her, and pulled her flush against his body, looking down at her as if he wanted to devour her.

Hannah almost whimpered when he let her go, suddenly, and stepped back.

“Er, we should - I mean - I should, er, get back… Professor McGonagall…” he stuttered.

“Oh, right! Of course, you should go. I need to get back to the Leaky, anyway,” Hannah agreed hastily.

They walked to the apparition point, and with an awkward ‘bye, then,’ they both cracked away to opposite ends of the country.

*******

Neville had been working on his part of the ritual since the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, three years, four months, and twenty-eight days ago.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he had a future to prepare for.

So that very day he had taken his broomstick and flown down to a small, otherwise inaccessible cove, a couple of miles up the coast from Scarborough.

With some careful transfiguration work, he had sculpted the cove inch by inch, until the space between the high tide line and the low tide line was precisely an acre.

It had taken him more than a year to make it perfect, and he was set back more than once by spring tides and winter storms, but the careful application of weather charms and stasis wards kept him from losing too much progress and eventually it was ready.

The ploughing, sowing, reaping and binding had to be completed within a single tide cycle, and that was the tricky bit.

Eventually he had gone to his grandmother to ask her advice.

Augusta had been her usual stern, forthright self, but she was proud of her grandson for following the old ways, and so she gave him the Longbottom Tome, which held their ancient family magics.

It was there he had found the Song Cycles; long, sweeping Latin chants for growing plants, speeding seasons and using magic to fuel the natural processes.

Practicing these had taken him years, and he had only recently mastered the one for speeding growth, which he had used on the Edenthorns.

Now, though, he had a partner to work with, and between them, he knew they could complete the bonding ritual to prepare the space for their wedding ceremony.

*******  
Between Salt Water And The Sea Sand - November 1st, 2001  
*******

Halloween - or Harry Potter Day, as some people still called it - was a busy night at the Leaky, so Hannah went home to Abbott Hall the day after. All Saints’ Day had always been more important to the Abbotts anyway - a throwback to their namesake, Abbess Hilda Hufflepuff, the grandmother of Helga Hufflepuff and the founding Abbess of Whitby Abbey.

Abbott Hall stood overlooking Saltwick Bay, just down the road from the old Abbey, which had fallen into muggle hands after the Dissolution of the Monasteries and the Statute of Secrecy. Hannah loved to stand on the cliff tops and look down on the bay, the eerie hulks of the two shipwrecks casting asymmetric shadows along the sand.

Today was even more special than usual though, as Neville was with her.

Not particularly popular even in summer, the beach was completely empty in November, and they walked down the old stone steps and along the sand hand in hand.

Since their first kiss during the shirt-washing ritual, their letters had become even longer and more frequent, and Professor McGonagall - amused but a little annoyed by the owls accosting her junior Herbology professor at every mealtime - had given Neville permission to take unpaid leave once a fortnight on a day of his choosing for the duration of his courtship with Hannah, on the condition that they only write to each other once a day.

Neville was more than happy to accept that bargain, and today was the first of their ‘official dates’ as Hannah had dubbed them.

Despite it being November, Neville had called his family elf, Tolly, to bring them both whippy ice creams, and then surprised himself by being bold enough to kiss a stray smudge of vanilla from the corner of Hannah’s lips, making her blush and giggle.

They talked and laughed and cast warming charms on each other to keep out the salty chill, and then as the tide went out Neville summoned the broomsticks he had stashed at the top of the cliff and they flew over the water, down the coast to the sheltered, warded bay Neville had been preparing.

He stopped just around the headland from the bay, hovering out of reach of the waves, and reached out to take Hannah’s hand as she stopped beside him.

“My Lady, I beg leave to present to you an acre of land between the salt water and the sea sand, and if you should judge it acceptable, I would ask for your help in preparing it for our wedding garden,” he said formally.

Hannah felt a tingle go through her as her magic registered the formality of the words, and her heart skipped at the romance of the moment.

“My Lord, I shall be glad to see it,” she answered him, then squealed as Neville eagerly lunged forward, pulling her and her broom with him around the cliff into a perfect little bay.

They landed on the wet sand, Neville looking excited and nervous and a little tongue-tied, and Hannah couldn’t resist pulling him into a hug and pressing kisses to his cheeks and neck and finally his lips.

“Oh Neville, it’s perfect! It’s such a pretty little bay and just the right size, and you’ve made it just for me - for us!”

*******

They picnicked on a flat rock at the edge of the cove as the tide lapped down the beach, baring the last of the full acre of golden sands.

“Today, we need to plough the acre with lamb’s horns, and sow it with these seeds. We’ll sing the Song Cycle spell chant as we go, and reap it with this sickle made from dragon leather. Each sheaf needs binding with ropes transfigured from the heather,” he gestured to the purple plants which lined the cliffs around them.  
“Then we set them around the bay, as Cornerstones for the handfasting runes, and the power of the ritual will hold the bay in stasis for a year and a day, or until we have our wedding ceremony here.”

Hannah smiled at the thought. “This is so romantic, using your family magic on this ancient ritual to strengthen our bond,” she told him. “Did you know my parents were wed with parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme too?”

Neville took her hand, and kissed it. “I didn’t. But I’m so happy you understand the beauty in the old ways too. Herbomancy rituals are so rare - when I was younger my family thought I was a squib, and I’ve never been much for wandwork. But when I discovered herbology and herbomancy are in my blood, I felt so connected to my ancestry.”

The wards shimmered suddenly, glowing with golden light.

“The acre is complete!” Neville announced, jumping to his feet. “The wards will hold the waves back for about an hour, but they can’t hold the tide, so we need to be quick.”

They worked in tandem, Neville using horns from the Jacob’s sheep lambs, which his family had kept on their land for generations, to plough straight furrows in the smooth sand, while Hannah went behind him with the seed bag, scattering handfuls into the ground.

They sang as they worked, Neville guiding Hannah in the call and response style of the ancient chant. Each place they planted, the one before it would spring up little green shoots, and the one before that would push upwards, leaves forming before their eyes, then buds and blossoms burst forth, covering the lush green with rich blues and purples, and delicate pink and cream.

They planted the first line of the acre and sang it into bloom before beginning the harvest. There was a bit of a knack to reaping the plants with the fire-hardened dragon leather sickle, but Neville quickly mastered it, while Hannah caught the sheaves and bound them skillfully in rich purple ropes transfigured from the heather.

“What plants are these?” asked Hannah, as they worked. “I thought the song said to sow the acre with a single peppercorn?”

Neville laughed. “You’re sort of right, but like with the other instructions, it isn’t quite what it seems. ‘One Peppercorn’ refers to a mediaeval practice where Lords would rent land to favoured servants or commoners for the nominal price of a peppercorn. The land wasn’t a gift, they were still renting it, but essentially for free.  
“My ancestor William le Gros, the first Lord of Holderness, set up a peppercorn rent with a farmer just outside the town. That farmer’s wife was a witch who had learned from the druids, an expert in Herbomancy. Le Gros developed this ritual based on her teaching, and included seeds from her herb garden at Peppercorn Farm to strengthen the wards.  
“These flowers are taken from the ancient magical herb garden of Peppercorn Farm - parsley for comfort, the white flowers; sage for strength, the purple ones; rosemary for love, the blue; and thyme for courage, pink.”

Hannah grinned. She couldn’t help but love how earnest Neville’s expression became when he went into ‘lecture mode’. He was going to be a great professor.

With the first line harvested, they placed the bundles at the four compass points of the cove, and Neville chanted the wards into being. The golden light which surrounded the cove shimmered, white around the Eastern point, where they had placed the parsley, purple around the Southern sage, blue around West for rosemary, and pink around the thyme placed at the North.

Then they began to plough and sow the second line, repeating the whole process, the second bundle of each plant strengthening the wards a little more.

Hannah could feel the cove pulsing with magic and warmth as they completed the final sections of the acre, the strength of the chant around them almost working on its own as the already-harvested sections regrew into a riotous meadow of colour and scent

With the full acre harvested and sung into the wards, the cove had become completely detached from the tide, which lapped against the outer edges of the glowing boundary as if it had forgotten it was supposed to wash up the beach.

Neville pulled Hannah into a hug as they finished their work, their hearts racing from the physical labour and the wild magic swirling in the air. 

“I love you, Hannah Emily Abbott!” he exclaimed, picking her up and swinging her round in a circle as they laughed from sheer joy.

*******  
A True Love Of Mine - December 21st, 2001  
*******

The North Yorkshire coast in December was not somewhere most witches dreamed of getting married, but Hannah Abbott was not most witches.

She and Neville, her betrothed, had prepared a perfect wedding garden, warded and filled with wild magic and flowers in a secluded cove.

Their handfasting ceremony would be held there at sunset, the peak of the Solstice.

It was still only 6am, but Hannah couldn’t sleep. She wouldn’t be seeing Neville until the ceremony, as was traditional, but her bridesmaids would be arriving shortly and indulging in a day of magical spa treatments and purifying rituals in preparation for the magical bonding tonight.

Neville was a staunch traditionalist, and had blushingly requested that they ‘keep to the old ways, and remain pure before our vows’, which Hannah was happy enough to comply with, though it had been a long few weeks of lingering kisses and cold showers.

She had gathered from this that Neville was a virgin, and as it happened she was too - not particularly from convictions, but she hadn’t really got round to it.

She hadn’t been in school during her fifth year, the first year she might have been interested, and then there had been the war, and since then… no-one had really taken her fancy, and she still sort of wanted her first time to be special, not just a one-night tumble in one of the grubby rooms above the Leaky.

She knew that the binding of pure bodies, souls, and magics at the same time was supposed to be uniquely powerful and beautiful, and she was nervous and excited and bursting with energy as she paced her bedroom at Abbott Hall, waiting for someone to come and help her get this day started.

Her wedding robe hung on the wardrobe, pure white silk, lovingly embroidered with leaves and flowers around the hem and cuffs by Tiggy, the Abbott family house elf. As tradition dictated, she would be naked beneath it, a thought which thrilled and terrified her in equal measure.

*******

Neville’s bachelor party had been a roaring success, and Neville had stumbled home at three in the morning, filled with firewhisky and a longing for his bride so deep that he could have cried.

He had fallen asleep in the greenhouse, in the end, curled up in a pile of hay near to the Edenthorns, so he could breathe Hannah’s comforting scent.

He dragged himself into the house around 10am, where a forbidding Augusta fed him a sobering draught, a hangover potion, a pepper-up potion (who knows what you could have caught, sleeping outside!), several cups of coffee, and a large plate of bacon and eggs, all while berating him for ‘carousing’, ‘vagrancy’, ‘impropriety’ and a number of other things Neville was too hungover to feel truly sorry for.

Only once he had fully ingested the concoctions before him did he eventually recall what day it was.

“I’m getting married! Today!” he exclaimed, interrupting his grandmother’s tirade with a goofy grin spreading across his face.

Augusta sighed, and ruffled his hair in an uncharacteristically fond gesture. “Yes, dear. Goodness knows how, but you are indeed getting married today.”

Neville beamed at her, and helped himself to more coffee.

“As soon as you’ve finished that, your… groomsmen await you in your chambers,” she informed him, a little stiffly. Apparently she had not forgiven the groomsmen in question for allowing Neville to get into such a state the night before his wedding.

Neville gulped down the caffeine, and hurried up the stairs, grateful that the hangover potion seemed to have kicked in now.

Harry, Ron, Seamus and Dean were waiting for him in his bedroom, all seated on the bed clutching hangover potions, and being scolded liberally by Tolly the elf.

“Thanks, Tolly, I can take it from here,” he told the elf with a wry smile, as the tiny creature paused for breath.

“Young Master should be more careful, he should!” Tolly replied warningly, before popping away.

Neville laughed. Not even the irascible elf could dampen his spirits today.

The Gryffindor lads quickly cheered up thanks to the potions and Neville’s infectious good mood.

“Our Neville, getting married! Who’d have thought, eh?” Ron grinned, clapping Neville on the back.

Harry, as Best Man, was consulting his to-do list, which had been sent over by Susan Bones, Maid of Honour.

“So… we have to collect bouquets for the girls and flowers for the bride’s hair and deliver them to Abbott Hall by noon… set up the ritual circle and everything by 1pm, then we have to shower and get dressed by 2:30pm, the photographer will be here for the end of that and some group shots until 3:15pm, then down to the cove and be in our places by quarter to 4, for the ceremony at 4,” he read.

Neville checked his watch. “It’s gone 11, we need to go sort the flowers!” 

*******

Hannah was sublimely relaxed. She was floating effortlessly in a bath of beautifying potions thanks to a featherlight charm on herself and a salt-sea charm on the bathwater.

Her bridesmaids, Luna and Ginny, and maid of honour Susan, were having their hair done by a team from Sleekeazy’s Salon - a wedding present from Harry and Ginny, as Harry’s grandfather had invented Sleekeazy’s, and they still held a controlling interest in the company.

Susan had the whole day planned to perfection, and so far it was going well.

The boys had delivered armfuls of sweet-scented flowers from the wedding garden, and they had made up their bouquets, and set aside blossoms with stay-fresh charms for Hannah’s hair.

The hair and makeup team had arrived on time, and were pampering them with dizzying efficiency.

In just over two hours time, Hannah Emily Abbott would be Hannah Emily Longbottom, and she couldn’t wait.

*******

Neville tried to calm his breathing as he stood in the sandy ritual circle he and the boys had cleared among the flowers of the wedding garden, waiting for his bride.

The cambric shirt she had made him fit effortlessly, made perfectly for him by her intentions and their combined magical signatures in the washing and drying rituals. He wore loose dark trousers of a similar fabric, and his feet were bare.

In his hands, he clutched a sprig of thyme, for courage.

“She’s here,” murmured Harry, who was standing a little behind him, facing away from the ritual circle in the traditional ‘guarding’ role.

Neville’s breath caught in his throat and he bit his lip, waiting.

Moments later, Susan took up the guard post across from Harry’s, and Neville heard the soft chanting of the other bridesmaids, groomsmen and guests as Hannah walked up the sandy aisle to meet him.

“Now he has done and finished his work  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Ask him to wear me his cambric shirt  
For then he'll be a true love of mine,

Love imposes impossible tasks  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
But none more than any heart would ask  
I must know you're a true love of mine.”

Her voice was pure and clear as she came to stand before him, dressed all in white.

Neville had never seen anything so beautiful.

He reached out his hand to take hers, and they sang together as the guests chanted the bonding ritual around them, the cove flooding with golden light until it was almost painfully bright.

“Parsley for comfort I offer thee here  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Sage for strength, to keep thee my dear  
Always as a true love of mine

Love is the rosemary scented so sweet  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Thyme for courage our future to meet  
Hand in hand, oh true love of mine.”

Harry and Susan turned into the light, their wands waving a complex pattern, and the light splintered into white, purple, blue, and pink. Each beam twisted and wove itself as if into a rope, and the four cords bound themselves around Neville and Hannah’s joined hands.

The guests spoke as one.

“You are bound now by the ritual of parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. May your comfort be shared, your strength unconquered, your love eternal and your courage unwavering. So it is said, and so it is done. So mote it be.”

A final, blinding flash of light, and the golden glow of wild magic was gone, the cove once more open to the elements. The cords binding their hands shimmered, and became rings, apparently metallic yet curiously woven. The waves began to lap at the beach once more, reclaiming their territory.

Neville leaned down, and kissed his bride.

*******  
Epilogue - September 21st, 2002  
*******

“If you ever do this to me again, Neville Longbottom, I will - aaahhhhhh!”

Neville winced as his wife crushed his hand in her much smaller one as another contraction hit her.

“One more, Hannah, you’re doing so well!” came the encouraging voice of the healer. Hannah looked as though she wanted to throttle the chirpy little woman.

“I don’t need - aahh!”

The startled cry of a newborn filled the air, and Hannah’s expletives turned to sobs.

“Oh well done! It’s a girl!”

*******

Neville reverently kissed the crinkled, red forehead of his newborn daughter, entirely in awe of what they had created.

“Hello, Rosemary,” he whispered to her. “Rosemary Alice Longbottom.”

“Born exactly a year since I sent you that shirt, and accepted your proposal,” Hannah smiled fondly at the memory.

“And exactly 9 months since our wedding day,” Neville smirked.

Hannah blushed. “Yes, well. Your grandmother forgot to mention that the strengthened bond from two pure bodies bonding on the solstice, with the addition of the Scarborough Fair ritual, meant we were definitely going to conceive that day,” she muttered.

Neville held out a finger, and watched Rosemary’s tiny fist clench around it with that surprising strength of a tiny baby. His heart melted all over again.

“Worth it, though,” he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> The full text of the original folk song 'Scarborough Fair'  
> (Last two verses written and added by me)
> 
> Are you going to Scarborough Fair?  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> Remember me to one who lives there  
> For she once was a true love of mine
> 
> Tell her to make me a cambric shirt  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> Without any seam nor needlework  
> And then she'll be a true love of mine
> 
> Tell her to wash it in yonder dry well  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> Which never sprung water nor rain ever fell  
> And then she'll be a true love of mine
> 
> Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> Which never bore blossom since Adam was born  
> And then she'll be a true love of mine
> 
> Ask her to do me this courtesy  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> And ask for a like favour from me  
> And then she'll be a true love of mine
> 
> Have you been to Scarborough Fair?  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> Remember me from one who lives there  
> For he once was a true love of mine
> 
> Ask him to find me an acre of land  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> Between the salt water and the sea-sand  
> For then he'll be a true love of mine
> 
> Ask him to plough it with a lamb's horn  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> And sow it all over with one peppercorn  
> For then he'll be a true love of mine
> 
> Ask him to reap it with a sickle of leather  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> And gather it up with a rope made of heather  
> For then he'll be a true love of mine
> 
> When he has done and finished his work  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> Ask him to come for his cambric shirt  
> For then he'll be a true love of mine
> 
> If you say that you can't, then I shall reply  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> Oh, Let me know that at least you will try  
> Or you'll never be a true love of mine
> 
> Love imposes impossible tasks  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> But none more than any heart would ask  
> I must know you're a true love of mine
> 
> Parsley for comfort I offer thee here  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> Sage for strength, to keep thee my dear  
> Always as a true love of mine
> 
> Love is the rosemary scented so sweet  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
> Thyme for courage our future to meet  
> Hand in hand, oh true love of mine.


End file.
